


The Moon's Not That Far Away

by SeaWitchDreams



Category: Once Upon a Time (In Space) - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaWitchDreams/pseuds/SeaWitchDreams
Summary: I looked through the bars and saw you, my love.
Relationships: Cinders/Rose (Once Upon A Time In Space), Rose & Snow | General White
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Mechs Album Week





	The Moon's Not That Far Away

The new prison commander comes down to Cinders’ cell, and her steps are quiet compared to the echo of the stories the fallen princess had heard the guards tell of her. They say she is the finest soldier in the king’s army, the finest soldier to have ever lived. They say her hand never wavers, her shot never misses, her hair is as red as the blood that she spills. They say she was a princess too, once upon a time, or something akin to that, before she left her palace and her planet and her crown and took up the sword.

Cinders had seen her when she arrived, just for a moment. A flash of scarlet hair, and a feeling she could not name. Now the commander comes down to her, and Cinders looks up and stops breathing.

It feels like seeing the stars again.

The people, in New Constantinople, talk of Snow's beauty. The soldiers on both sides, in their camps, Speak of Rose’s fierceness, of the terror she inspires. Cinders, in her lonely cell, watches her new guard and thinks, _she must be the most beautiful woman in all the worlds._

With her dark uniform and the scar down the side of her face, she doesn’t look like a princess. but then, neither does Cinders, anymore. it’s a wide, odd galaxy, and maybe the commander made the wise choice. Cinders knows better that anyone just how little royalty means when the soldiers come a-marching.

The beautiful commander finishes talking to the guards and turns to Cinders.

“Is there something you wish to say?” she asks. Her voice is quiet. There is no bite to it, no poison.

Cinders hesitates, then dares.

“Commander,” She says. “It grows cold at night, in these cells. Will you give me a coat?”

She had made the same request of two of the guards, and later of the former commander. All had ignored her. But this new commander is stolen starlight and strangeness, and there is no way to know what futures and paths she holds, and Cinders has been cold for so long.

The commander meets her eyes, and after a moment, nods. “you will have it.”

She leaves shortly after that. The coat arrives that evening – simple and soft. It is brought by someone else, and Cinders does not question it, when she finds her relief mixed with a pang of disappointment.

She had hoped to see the princess commander again.

*

The commander returns the next day with the food. As she passes it through the door, her eyes flicker to the coat, then to Cinders’ face. For a moment they look at each other silently, and the she is gone.

She shows up again the day after that. On the third day, when it looks like she is about to leave, Cinders breaks the silence.

“Commander,“ She says, not knowing why. “The days here are long and empty. Will you give me some books?”

The commander blinks in surprise, then nods. “You will have them.”

This time, in the evening, the commander comes herself. She is carrying a small pile of books, all from different genres and sources, clearly collected from all around. Her fingers linger, reluctant, on the last of them, a small book with a simple, dark cover, but eventually she lays it beside the rest.

“Thank you.” Cinders says. She means it, and it has been so long since she spoke to someone else with a genuine emotion that wasn’t bitterness.

“I hope you like them.” Says the other woman. Her face is unreadable, but there is a vulnerability to the words that cinders did not expect. She isn’t sure quite what to do with it.

The commander is gone before she can decide.

The small book contains poetry. Not something local – the words carry the odd beauty and strangeness of something from a faraway planet. On the first page, written by hand, is the dedication: _if you ever have time to read. Happy 22 to both of us. Love, S._

The pages are worn from use. Cinders turns the book again and again in her hands through the night, the other books forgotten. It's content, it’s weight **,** somehow turn her new guard from a dream into a flesh-and-blood woman in a way even the scars couldn’t do.

She wonders who S is.

In the morning, when the commander comes down with the food, Cinders rushes to the cell’s door. “I read the books.” She says, reaching a hand to take the tray. “The poetry was beautiful.”

Their hands touch.

Cinders freezes, barely stopping a gasp. On the other side of the bars, the commander freezes, too.

It has been a long time since Cinders touched another person, and the commander’s hand feels like it is burning. A flesh-and-blood woman, she had thought last night, and well, here is her proof, long fingers pressed against her on the cold metal. Her hand is not soft – it is a warrior's hand. Cinders wants to hold it forever.

For an eternity, neither of them moves. When eternity ends, the commander pulls her hand back and says “I’m glad.” before turning and not-quite-running away.

Her voice shakes, just a little. Cinders wonders if it’s been a long time since she touched another person, too.

When she comes back the next day, Cinders is waiting by the door. She reaches for the tray slowly, deliberately, giving the commander time to back away.

She doesn’t.

With their fingers entwined, Cinders speaks.

“Commander,” She asks, quietly. “Will you give me your name?”

The commander smiles, and the stars shine brighter.

“You can call me Rose.”

She sees Rose every day, after. They don’t talk much – there are guards everywhere, and they both know the yet-nameless thing between them is not allowed. But Rose come to her every day, and looks in her eyes and smiles, just for her. Their hands always meet.

Cinders keeps requesting things, just to give her reasons to return. Small things, always – but small things matter, too.

“You will have it.” Rose says, every time.

“Rose, will you give me a hairbrush?”

“Rose, will you give me a screen?”

“Rose, will you give me news of the world?”

_My Rose, will you give me your heart?_

She doesn’t dare to ask.

*

(Rose was sixteen when she packed her bags, kissed her sister goodbye and left for the army.

“They don’t need me here.” She told Snow before she left. “I don’t belong here. I’m not like you. I can’t fight for our people here, not like I could from there. They need me there.”

Snow didn’t say, _I need you here_. Maybe she didn’t.

She needs her now, though. In a world full of lies and treacherous words and courtesy and the bloodlust underneath it, Snow is a master at her craft and a little girl lost in the woods all at once, and Rose is her path. Rose is her reason. Her sister calls her after a battle from a distant planet, specks of blood near-invisible in her short hair, and the tension melts from her shoulders, and maybe Rose needs her too (maybe for the same reasons).

Snow’s sister is a flickering shade, there and then gone, only hers for brief moments. She dreams, sometimes, of bringing an end to the war that keep taking her away. She cannot imagine, even in those fantasies, the person Rose will be without it. But it helps her remember why she is doing all this – why she is arguing and preaching and persuading and struggling, fighting to change an empire as old as the sun.

She is doing it for their people, and she’s doing it for Rose.

Rose deserves to be happy.

Rose always smiles when she talks about Cinders. Rose smiles more often, these days, when she calls to talk.

Snow will do anything to keep that smile there.

She arrives at Rose’s door two hours before midnight.

“I have a plan.” She says.

Rose smiles. Not one of her Cinders-smiles. A Smile that’s just for Snow.

“My brilliant sister.” She says. “Of course you do.”)

*

“We have to hurry.” Says the woman in white. She doesn’t tell Cinders her name as she leads her out of the prison and into the pale starlight, as she tells her of her plan, as she promises her freedom and her Rose if she only makes it before midnight. She doesn't have to. Cinders recognizes the familiar shape of her face, clean of scars. Rose’s sister looks like her, like an odd, dark haired reflection. In her beautiful white dress, with her gentle hands and unmarred skin and the same sharp steel in her eyes, S looks like a princess.

And so does Cinders, now. There’s a dress for her, more beautiful, even, than anything she wore in her childhood. The feeling of the silk against her skin is familiar and foreign all at once, nearly forgotten. She doesn’t know how to be a princess, anymore.  
S pushes her into the carriage and presses the ring to her hand. “go now, quickly.” She orders. “I will see you there.”

Cinders wants to ask for her name, but there is no time. ( _there will be time_ , she tells herself. There will be forever to know her new sister, after midnight.)

And then there is the altar, and there is Rose.

“I will love you,” she vows, “for as long as I live.”

Rose slips the ring onto her finger. Her smile is one Cinders has never seen before, and she would look at it forever, if they only had time. Instead, she holds out the other ring.

“My love,” She asks. “will you give me your hand?”

Rose meets her eyes. “you will have it.”

A gunshot rings.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! I am @annietheseawitch.


End file.
